A Diogenes Club Affair
by belladonnacordial
Summary: COMPLETE! Holmes, Mycroft, the Club, and especially Watson, prove how far quiet human kindness can go toward resolving a case. Inspired by MeGoobie and therefore NOT SLASH. You get to meet the real father of Ian Fleming too!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: This is fan fiction based on the works of Arthur Conan Doyle.

This story is for my friend MeGoobie. She does not like slash. Plus, every once in a while, I like to prove to myself that I can write something other than slash. I have edited all spelling to standard British English. I hope that you enjoy this tiny case that could fit into a snuffbox. There is a short prologue, two chapters, and a short epilogue. All of it is written. I'll be posting about one per week.

A Diogenes Club Affair

Prologue

It was on a mild sunny day in early April, the kind of day that fooled the birds and flowers and even the wisest of men into believing that winter had finally stepped aside that I, quite foolishly perhaps, decided to celebrate spring. Since my wife was away visiting a distant cousin, I could scarcely think of returning home to an empty house to curl up fireside with nothing more engaging than the evening paper.

Instead I closed my practise early, as soon as I had seen to the last of my appointments. I took to walking through the bustling streets, past houses open for airing, and many businesses closed whose proprietors no doubt had similar plans for enjoying the remains of first fine day in recent memory. Fortunately I found that the sweet shop I frequent was not only open but also doing a brisk business. I came away with enough violet pastels and English toffees to fill my coat pocket. So it was that I was in high spirits on that golden afternoon when I found myself at the doorstep of my old lodgings at Baker Street and decided to chance an unexpected call on my dear old friend who never seemed to mind surprises of any sort.

"Doctor Watson!" Mrs. Hudson greeted me fussing with a few strands of hair fallen loose from her usually tidy bun. Clearly she was harried yet most overjoyed to see me. Her eyes glistened and cheeks flushed. Her smile reflected genuine pleasure to be once again in my company. "How good you are to come home for a visit. We've had a day," she confided, dropping her voice to a whisper as she held the door open for me. I offered her my last violet pastel which I remembered that she favoured. I thought for a moment that she would fling her arms around me. Instead she took the sweet.

"Watson!" Holmes shouted from over her shoulder, "As usual, your timing is impeccable. We are on our way out, dear fellow. You remember young Tom of the Irregulars?"

"Growing like a weed, I see." Since I knew Holmes cared no more for English toffees than violet pastels, I held out my three remaining toffees for Tom. The sweets were fair trade for his wondrous grin of boyish happiness.

"Tom intercepted an intriguing summons from Mycroft. Are you up to accompanying me on a visit to the Club?"

"Of course, Holmes! I am as ever at your service." I still had my hat in hand and had just noticed a rather alarming amount of black smoke pouring into the room from under the door of Holmes' bedroom, when Holmes thrust his arm through mine and pulled me toward the threshold again. "Holmes!" I stopped him from hurrying us out and pointed toward the smoke.

"Most satisfactory. Nothing to worry about, my dear fellow, I assure you." Tom took the opportunity to run out ahead of us and soon disappeared into the crowd of taller pedestrians milling along the busy sidewalk.

"Come back for dinner, Doctor! After he has finished with you! Or another day soon!" cried dear, long-suffering Mrs. Hudson. Before I could answer, Holmes was pulling me into a hansom. Then we were off to that cold and intriguing bastion of silence the Diogenes Club.


	2. Chapter One

Moonlit Puddle- Thank you for your lovely review! Glad you liked my Watson.

A Diogenes Club Affair

Chapter One

Before I could voice a single question, Holmes took out the note from his waistcoat pocket and passed it to me to read. The stationery was very fine and bore the club crest. In a neat, bold, practised hand there was written, Sherlock, Please come to the club immediately. Mycroft. "You have no idea what this is about, Holmes?"

"It would seem to be a matter requiring discretion, though nothing of great import."

"Why do you assume the matter to be of little importance? Your brother's note indicates some urgency. Does it not?"

Holmes smiled warmly at me. "Perhaps if I did not know my brother as I do, I should think so, Watson. You see by his hand that this is not a hasty scribble. The words are carefully formed. The lines are even, not at all crowded or rushed. He has taken the time to get himself settled comfortably behind a desk. If Mycroft had all the time in the world to write that note, I can hardly think that it speaks of some critical matter of State. Consider too that he handed it to someone, who gave it to one of the club boys, who in turn found one of the Irregulars on his way to delivering it to me. A request for aid of any true significance would have made its way through more official channels, I suspect."

"Yet you suggest that the matter calls for discretion? Why?"

"My brother sent for me. He does not mention the reason. Both those clues indicate that the topic at hand is something that Mycroft wishes to keep in the family as it were."

"Perhaps then I should not attend your meeting with him, Holmes."

"Nonsense! Since there can be no personal reason for his summons, I suspect that what is at hand is of some small importance to the Diogenes Club, an internal matter, most likely. Possibly it is a scandal involving one of the members or a trustee. At any rate he can not find fault with the discretion of my confidant if he is to trust my own judgment on the matter."

"We are hardly dressed appropriately for the Diogenes Club."

"But we are, since we will not pass the Stranger's Room. As you will recall, it is the only place in the club where we may have the necessary conversation." When we arrived at the club and had signed our names, the trustee on duty indicated that we should follow him. Mycroft was indeed awaiting us in the Stranger's Room. A placard on that door requested privacy from the fellow members.

"Sherlock. Doctor Watson. Thank you both for the swiftness of your arrival here." Mycroft rose to his feet with some difficulty and held out his enormous hand to both of us. After I stepped forward to shake his hand as Holmes had done, Mycroft sat down again heavily and motioned for us both to do the same. I took one of the two leather chairs available, amused that I did indeed seem to be expected here. Holmes preferred to pace, his eyes sweeping over every object in the room while his brother began by informing us of the reason for his summons.

"Perhaps you recall a Faberge snuffbox that was gifted to the club several months ago from the Royal Family of Russia?"

"I do seem to recall an incident that may have precipitated such a gift," Holmes said with a wry smile.

"That snuffbox went missing from the club on the day before yesterday."

"Yet you inform me of this fact only today?"

"I wanted to make certain that it was not merely mislaid or taken elsewhere for polishing by one of the trustees. A thorough search confirmed that the snuffbox is not in this club."

"The snuffbox is the only object that is missing?"

"Correct. What do you require in order to solve it, Sherlock?"

"I require membership records complete with addresses. I also wish to review the sign-in book for the entire month leading up to the theft. I noticed a new book was started shortly after the theft was suspected." I had not noticed such a thing but looking back did recall that the book we signed was opened very near to the front.

Mycroft raised his hand pointing to the shelf behind Holmes. "I took the liberty," he simply stated.

Holmes seemed entirely unsurprised that his brother had anticipated his needs. He retrieved both volumes and took a seat at last to flip through those books. Almost as soon as he had sat, Holmes was up again replacing the books on the shelf. Mycroft appeared expectant but did not speak. Holmes sat and interlaced his fingers. All was quiet for a moment.

Next my friend enquired of his brother, "How do you wish me to proceed once I am in possession of the snuffbox and face to face with the party involved?"

"Give his brother this," said Mycroft withdrawing a letter from his breast pocket. Holmes rose and took it.

"You may expect a swift resolution. Good evening, Mycroft."

"Good evening, Sherlock and Doctor Watson. Forgive me. I don't seem to have it in me at the moment to get up again." Once we had left the Diogenes club and were safely ensconced into a cab. I could not hold my curiosity in check.

"Surely you should have made your own investigation of the club, Holmes?"

"There was no point inconveniencing the members more than we had by monopolising the Stranger's Room."

"But how on earth are you meant to recover a snuffbox that could be anywhere in London, or even a good distance from it by now?"

"We are on our way to recovering it as we speak. With any luck we shall return the box to the Diogenes Club this very evening."

"Good heavens, Holmes, what did the thief do? Confess to the crime in the sign-in book?"

"Though I doubt his purpose was theft, yes, he rather did."

...to be continued. Please feel free to leave comments, criticisms, suggestions, recipes or even flames. All is appreciated. Thank you simply for reading.


	3. Chapter Two

Many thanks to Moonlit Puddle and Susicar for their kind reviews. I hope you both like this chapter too.

A Diogenes Club Affair

Chapter Two

Our destination was a grand house in Mayfair. The residence looked dark as if it had been deserted for the winter months and had not yet reopened. Never the less, Holmes went to the door and knocked quite insistently. On his fourth set of knocks a well-dressed fair-haired young gentleman of perhaps twenty five years opened the door himself. His expression was one of instant recognition then puzzlement.

"Good Lord, Sherlock Holmes," he said shaking Holmes' hand, "It's been years! Forgive me. Do both come inside. Please."

"This is my friend Doctor Watson. Watson, our host, Mr. Valentine Fleming of the Fleming banking interest also a member of the Diogenes Club. I take it that your servants are still away?"

"Yes, half the staff are with father at Balmoral, the other half are with mother and Evie in Oxfordshire. The whole family is scattered at the moment. Only Gordy and I and old Griffin the caretaker are here in town. You'll have to excuse us. The main house is in lavender. I only returned this morning and had business to attend most of the day. A piece of luck you didn't come yesterday. Gordy has been roughing it in the guest house of all places and wouldn't have been likely to notice a knock. Griffin spent all winter here but is deaf as a post. Were you here to see my father, Holmes?"

"Your brother."

"Gordy? This is a social call, then?"

Holmes took the envelope Mycroft had given him at the club and presented it to Mr. Fleming. "You should have a seat. I very much fear this letter from Mycroft will explain all."

He took the letter and bade us to find somewhere to sit. Holmes and I did as he requested throwing sheets off of two chairs. The young man paled as he read the contents of the letter. When he finished it, his hand with the letter dropped into his lap. After a moment, he read the letter again. When he spoke, his voice was choked with emotion.

"Holmes, do thank your brother. We all knew that Gordy- that his injuries have taken a toll on him. You don't know how much your family's discretion and understanding in this matter is appreciated. You see Holmes, Gordy doesn't speak very often. His voice is not impaired, you understand. Since his return to England he- well, he has not had much to say. Do you mind if I am the one to speak to my brother about this?"

"Not at all. Doctor Watson and I will wait here."

"Please come. I- I don't wish you to hold the incident against the friend you knew from childhood." Holmes nodded. We followed Valentine Fleming out to a guest house isolated in the midst of a rather charming garden only starting to bloom with life. The guest house was tidy and warm with a pleasant fire. A man was seated reading before it with his back to us. The gramophone was playing a beautiful and haunting melody I had never heard before. "Gordy, may we trouble you for a moment?"

The man stood and turned to face us. On the left side he wore an eye patch. His left arm hung loosely at his side as if paralysed. His face that surrounded that lost eye was a great mass of scar tissue. I could think of no way that a man could come by such a terrible disfigurement, other than as a victim of torture. Upon seeing Holmes, what was left of the man's face lit up with a smile.

"Holmes, just the man I've been wanting to see. Could this be Doctor Watson, then?" The man's voice sounded as dry and brittle as English winter.

"I am he," I said finding my voice. "Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Fleming."

"A great pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I have read all your accounts of Holmes' cases since my return and have thoroughly enjoyed every one. Of course. You are both here about the snuffbox."

I glanced at Holmes and at Valentine Fleming. Both were gazing upon me with such intense affection that I felt that I should continue. "Yes, you are quite correct," I said mildly.

"I should have guessed that I would not be alone in seeing to the bottom of this plot. Not when such men as Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson walk among us. As you can imagine, it was not without trepidation that I brought the foul thing into my custody, Holmes. It would be quite a load off my mind if I could entrust it to you for proper disposal."

"You may trust Doctor Watson and I to take every care with it," he said gently. The man breathed a sigh of obvious relief. He went immediately to the desk, unlocked it with his key, and drew out a parcel wrapped in brown paper, and carefully handed it to Holmes, who took it from him as if it were the most delicately balanced explosive or the deadliest of serpents. "You have done Her Majesty and her subjects a great service," Holmes said, as sincere as I have even seen him. I suspected that what he had said was the truth, though I very much doubted that he was speaking of the snuffbox.

"The smallest of services, though I am always greatly honoured to have such opportunities."

"Doctor Watson and I must leave at once to take care of this matter," Holmes said to both of the brothers.

"Of course, I'll see you both out," said Valentine Fleming.

"Holmes," Gordy Fleming said, extending his hand, "Perhaps- perhaps I will be of some use again, in the future."

Holmes shook his hand and with a slight bow said, "Of that I have no doubt, Fleming."

When we had returned to the main house, Mr. Fleming made much of our kindness to his elder brother. "This whole incident is our fault. We have kept him too isolated here. For fear of over-taxing him, we have not allowed him enough to keep his faculties occupied. All that will change. I'm going to speak to father as soon as he returns. I'm certain the Diogenes Club will help. Goodness! No one has been voted in by the membership without submitting a formal application first- well, since you were, Holmes! Who could have imagined a theft would illuminate an honest man?"

Holmes quoted, "All things are the property of the wise."

"I doubt my father would agree with Diogenes there."

"Perhaps it is a good thing that your father is not a member."

"My father talks in his sleep. I doubt he could pass an evening in silence if all his property depended on it."

As we took a carriage back to the Diogenes club, Holmes told me a little of the tragedy that had befallen, Gordon Fleming. He and Holmes had been at school together in the same year. According to Holmes, they were not friends as Fleming's brother had thought. This was no fault of Fleming's but due entirely to Holmes' aloof nature. He called Fleming an immensely decent chap. Even Holmes admitted that the two of them had held a special regard for one another neither afforded to the majority of their peers.

Later in life while Holmes concentrated his intellect and efforts on detecting crime and serving justice, Fleming joined the Foreign Office. In it, he had enjoyed a successful and rewarding career until captured abroad by agents of a hostile interest while carrying sensitive encoded documents. Fleming was tortured. In the end, he managed to kill his captors, retrieve the documents which had never been decoded, and escape. Despite his severe injuries, he managed to travel in secret to a British Embassy, where he was hospitalised for the better part of a year before returning in the winter of last year to England. Later he was awarded some medal or other and quietly retired. "Can you deduce how Mycroft and I detected his identity from the sign-in book?"

"His handwriting differed from that of his brother's other signatures. You realized Gordon might have heard about the box from his brother while also knowing his whereabouts and habits and looking enough like his brother to successfully impersonate him."

"Well done, Watson."

"What I do not understand is how he could have entered the Diogenes Club."

"He's hardly the only eccentric ever to enter the Diogenes Club as you well know."

"The rest were members at the time."

"Or guests of members."

"Are you implying that I am eccentric, Holmes?"

"You possess the most singular of eccentricities, Watson. You are among the best of men."

"Only because I keep fine company."

"Despite the company you keep, I should say."

"How did he disguise his face, Holmes?"

"You do recall the weather the day before yesterday?"

"It was very cold and windy. The left part of his face was obscured by a hat and scarf or something of that nature. Yes, I can see it now."

We returned to find Mycroft Holmes still sitting in the same chair where we left him. Holmes presented him with the brown paper parcel and explained the circumstances surrounding the theft. Mycroft listened and simply nodded. "You may as well take that rubbish away with you as a souvenir of the case, Sherlock. The Diogenes Club will always value members over objects." Holmes nodded and dropped the parcel into his waistcoat pocket.

...tbc

A/N- Valentine Fleming, son of Robert Fleming the Scottish Banking Magnate, was also the father of Ian Fleming, British spy later famous for his James Bond novels. Also of interest, Christopher Lee, who once played a Bond villain in film, is Ian Fleming's real life cousin. Talk about family connections! Gordon Fleming is entirely fictional, inspired by the Fleming family, jam-packed with such incredibly courageous people. Valentine Fleming died a hero's death in battle during WW1.

Thank you just for reading! All comments, con-crit, flames, suggestions, corrections, any human contact at all is appreciated more than is realistically healthy. I worship you all.


	4. Epilogue

Very special thank yous once again to Moonlit Puddle and Susicar for their kind words and suggestions. I'll try to respond to any reviews I receive for this epiloque or story as a whole at the bottom of this page.

A Diogenes Club Affair

Epilogue

Once Holmes had flagged down transportation home, he said, "Well, Watson, will you accept Mrs. Hudson's offer of dinner?"

"Why ever not Holmes? I do miss her cooking. Perhaps she has doused that fire in your bedroom by now, too."

"There was no fire, only smoke."

"Conventional wisdom is of the opinion that one tends to accompany the other."

"Precisely! Therefore, I am experimenting with timed smoke devices to use as effective diversions."

"Holmes, you don't think there is anything to it?"

"I believe that such a device once made reliable will have great potential. Perhaps not in London, who would notice? Out in the countryside though, black plumes rising, visible for miles around-"

"No, no. I'm sorry. I meant, you don't think there is anything to the snuffbox?"

"I am certain that my brother examined it upon its arrival and that it is just a snuff box, Watson. However, when we return to Baker Street we will settle the matter to your satisfaction."

"Perhaps we should eat first? For Mrs. Hudson's sake?"

Truly, I had missed the great charm in some of Holmes' Bohemian ways. Between the two of us, we somehow managed to convince Mrs. Hudson to join us, despite much protest on her part that such a thing was the height of impropriety. Improper or not, dinner was a jovial affair. As if by tacit agreement, we did not speak of the case. I directed conversation toward rememberances of my life at Baker Street prior to marriage. For their parts, Holmes and Mrs. Hudson brought me up to date on the cases, clients, special constabulary training, Irregular recruiting, experiments, and other general pandemonium that I had escaped by choosing a life of placid domesticity.

After dinner, Holmes and I retired to our old rooms which had not changed. He carefully unwrapped the box. At the time I was unfamiliar with the work of Faberge. I am uncertain now exactly what I had been expecting, though this snuffbox was far from that. It was silver with gold overlay in the most outrageously ornate flowery pattern. In the centre of the lid was an oval inlay of enamelwork. Within was pictured in miniature- Diogenes, a fat man wearing a rather insufficient toga carrying a lamp. Around him sparkled eight rather large shimmering rose-coloured diamonds. "Good Lord, Holmes, it is hideous."

"Of course, Doctor, it is art." Holmes opened the box. The inside of the lid was a brilliant blue sky of enamel starbursts each set with a white diamond. The inside of the box was solid gold. Holmes closed the lid and turned the box to view the bottom. It was signed C.F.

"Carl Faberge, a man whose character, if not taste, is beyond reproach. It may be hideous, Watson. It is also is only a snuffbox." Holmes put it in his desk and closed the drawer on yet another case. "Stay the night, dear fellow. Your bedroom is just as you left it. In lieu of a case that you would be free to publish, I can offer fine cognac, your favorite cigars, and after, as much violin as you care to hear, all in meager token of my gratitude for your invaluable assistance today."

So Holmes had not missed the no doubt obvious clues that Mary had left me on my own. Then again, considering her invitation to dinner and how easily she gave in to become a part of the occasion, perhaps Mrs. Hudson had not missed those telltale signs either. "My dear friend, how could I refuse?"

-finis-

A/N- Why did Gordon Fleming steal the snuffbox? Because he thought it was the right thing to do.

In 1845, the word psychosis entered the scholarly vocabulary to describe all sorts of temporary and permanent mental disorders. Today we might call this a paranoid delusion brought on by stress, which has been known to be triggered by such things as false arrest, humiliation, or isolation. Fleming's recent experiences qualify and then some. Perhaps it says something of Fleming's character that he projected upon an actual object, a peculiar snuffbox, rather than upon other people as Nixon did. It made sense to me for someone used to a cloak and dagger lifestyle to rely on what he knew to 'remove the threat' and thus 'treat his own condition.'

At any rate, someone of his past and social standing would likely be seen as entitled to a bit of odd behaviour, especially since it is a misguided attempt to thwart a foreign threat, though the threat in this case was merely an imagined one, to the Diogenes Club, which I have always suspected is much more than it seems, if only for Mycroft's omni-presence there. We do know that sometimes Mycroft Holmes IS the government. In this respect, Gordon is a bit of Sherlock Holmes gone wrong, or think Don Quixote and his windmills. As Holmes does, I think Gordon will eventually get his mind back in the right place, where his heart has always been. : )

...Thank you so much for reading! If you want to say hello, have comments, criticisms, corrections, suggestions, even flames, please feel free to drop me a line!


End file.
